


Paint a Target on My Back

by AliceMcGee



Series: Targets [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, set after Mail Call Three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMcGee/pseuds/AliceMcGee
Summary: What if, when the Army fucked up and sent Hawkeye's letters to that other Cpt. Pierce, there was that goodbye note Hawk never got from Trapper? What would it say? And what would Hawkeye make out of it and of his memories of Trapper?





	Paint a Target on My Back

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed how Trapper's name got more mentions during later seasons and it just makes sense to me that maybe Trapper's sudden departure wasn't the end for them.

The handwriting hadn’t changed a single bit - well, it _was_ only a couple of months. He was probably more surprised to still know it so well he picked it up immediately.

There were more letters, but not one another written by the same hand. The other captain Pierce had left a while ago, but Hawkeye still couldn’t move. Or maybe didn’t want to.

He realized someone was talking to him.

“Hawk?” BJ’s voice was dripping with concern, the easy amusement from just moments earlier now replaced by confusion. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his eyes still not leaving the envelope. _Cpt. Benjamin Pierce._ It was strange to know that Trapper could think about him like that. Not Hawkeye. Captain Benjamin Pierce. It felt like this letter belonged to that other man of the same name. Or maybe to a whole another person.

“Why are you staring at that letter?” BJ asked.

“It’s from Trapper,” Hawkeye said before he could think better of it and BJ whistled.

“Trapper John?”

“No, Trapper Sergiev, my Russian agent penpal.”

“You gonna read it?” BJ asked, ignoring Hawkeye’s attempt to lighten up the mood. Charles got up and left, muttering under his breath something about not having a single moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Hawkeye said, but instead of opening the envelope, he shoved the letter into his pocket, starting to sort through his remaining mail. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was feeling, but he knew he wanted to open it in privacy. Which would be a bitch to explain to BJ, but of course he couldn’t let it slide.

“So what are you waiting for?” BJ asked, tilting his head as if Hawkeye was some interesting riddle.

“Don’t know.” Hawkeye shrugged. BJ looked like he wanted to say something more, but they were interrupted by PA announcing incoming wounded and for the first time, Hawkeye was kind of relieved to hear it. It would give him something to do, something to focus on while he would get used to the thought. And with some luck, gather enough courage to open the letter. Because for reasons he didn’t have time to explore, the thought scared him.

He had no idea what could fall out of that envelope, because really, at the time of Trapper’s departure, there was nothing simple and clear about their relationship anymore, and the lack of proper goodbye complicated it even more.

Fortunately, there weren’t that many difficult cases and after mere four hours of surgery, Hawkeye could retreat to Officers’ Club. Sensing his melancholy, BJ left him alone and went to the Swamp to write his own letters. Hawkeye got a drink and found a table in the corner, then he took out the letter. It was really there, a physical evidence that once upon a time, Trapper was a part of Hawkeye’s life, that he didn’t just hallucinate him to get through bad days.

Stretching out his legs, he sipped his drink.

* * *

It started out with a kiss. Well, no, not exactly. If Hawkeye was being honest, it started far earlier before the kiss. Ages before that. It was almost impossible to decide what really _was_ the start, but there was one occasion, probably as good as every other, to pick.

It was one cold autumn night after fifteen hours long OR session for Hawkeye. Trapper lucked out and got some sleep in between, so he was decidedly less exhausted than Hawkeye. Which apparently made him guilty, so he took it upon himself to take care of Hawkeye. Frank fell asleep in an unoccupied bed in post-op and Henry went to his tent, giving strict orders to Radar to not be woken up under any circumstances other than ceasefire or orders to go back home. Everyone else left to go after their own business, it was just the two of them. Two of really tired doctors, but how many times had they found themselves in this situation already?

Hawkeye hadn’t been eating much for a couple of days, so he was on the brink of collapse. He wasn’t even able to take off his surgical gown, his stiff fingers fumbling with the strings.

“Hey, let me,” Trapper said, quickly untied the knots and pulled the gown off. Then he let Hawkeye wash his hands and helped him into a wheelchair. They did that for each other from time to time. Sometimes it was just fun, but other times it was the most considerate gesture. Hawkeye sighed in relief as he sank into the chair.

“476 Riverside Drive, please,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

“What’s there?” Trapper asked as they began their journey.

“No idea, I just made that up. But I bet you fifty bucks whatever it is, it’s better than here.”

“I don’t know about that. While you were elbows deep in intestines, I had the chance to check the last batch of gin. And let me tell you, those few extra hours did a miracle. I’m almost sure it wouldn’t even dissolve a nail.”

“Almost sure?” Hawkeye asked. He would raise an eyebrow, but he couldn’t even unglue his eyelids.

“We’ll see about that, I did a test,” Trapper said, stopping the wheelchair to open the door to the Swamp. Hawkeye still kept his eyes closed and let Trapper wheel him near his bed. Then there was a cold glass in his hand and he finally looked around. The filthiness of the place never bothered him, but this time, it just felt like a home.

“You need to try it before going to sleep,” Trapper said, filling his own glass from the carafe. Hawkeye wasn’t really in the mood for a drink, but he was far less in the mood to argue. So he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. It was smoother than usual, that was true. He took another sip and stretched his legs, savoring the way the warmth started in his throat and made its way through his body all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“I knew you would like it,” Trapper said, the grin audible in his voice and Hawkeye felt his lips curling up in response. God, it was good not to be there alone or stuck with more guys like Frank. Korea was hell, that he was sure of, and having Trapper was a blessing.

“Okay, you were right. Can I go to sleep now?” Hawkeye asked, looked at Trapper and for a second, forgot to breathe. He was leaning on the still, dressed in white like some half-angel of booze. The smile on his face was softer than usual and it occurred to Hawkeye that he never saw Trapper smile like this at other people, not even at the nurses that caught his eye. Just him. That thought warmed his insides in a different way than gin, but he was too tired to ponder this. Instead, he focused on Trapper’s eyes, the black of his enlarged pupils and the friendly hazel of his irises. Well, friendly was one way to put it.

There were other ways. Protective. Affectionate. Loving.

He shook his head to get rid of those ridiculous thoughts and placed his glass on the table. Moving from the chair to his bed, he kicked his boots off, and immediately there was Trapper, taking his blanket to tuck him in.

“Trap,” Hawkeye said, almost overcome by a storm of feelings raging in his chest. He caught Trapper’s hand and squeezed it for emphasis. “Thank you.”

Because what else could he say, in this situation, in this place, in this time.

“Anytime, Hawk.” Trapper said and Hawkeye closed his eyes. It took him few seconds to realize how unsure Trapper sounded. How he hesitated for a few seconds before drawing his hand away. Maybe he was searching for the right thing to say too.

But with every breath, those thoughts became more and more abstract, until he drifted off to dreams where there were no rules restricting what words the two of them could use.

 

They didn’t kiss then and they didn’t kiss for other two weeks. Then Hawkeye caught a bad case of cold with vertigos and fever and nightmares. The third night they were all woken up by his cries, Trapper had enough and moved his cot right to Hawkeye’s. Hawkeye sat up, curious what that meant.

“McIntyre, what do you even think you’re doing?” Frank's scandalized voice cut through the silence of the Swamp. And although the tone was different, Hawkeye was asking himself the same question.

“Jealous, Frank?” Trapper teased, adding a wink.

“I always knew you guys were perverts, but this seems too much even for you!” Frank spurted, his face coloring to a shade of a ripe tomato.

“Look, Frank, do you want to get some sleep?” Trapper asked as got settled into his bed. “If so, I suggest you shut up. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Hawkeye asked, too weak to do anything else than fall back down onto his bed as Trapper settled down.

“I’m a doctor, ain’t I?” Trapper said.

“You’re impossible, that’s what you both are,” Frank said just for the sake of having the last word, then he pulled his blanket over his head and once again, all was quiet. Hawkeye’s eyes were heavy, but it was hard to sleep with his teeth chattering despite his high temperature. Trapper was close enough for them to touch, just lightly, but it was still a relief. Without even realizing it, Hawkeye moved closer to Trapper, craving the feeling of not being alone, and Trapper didn’t withdraw. And gradually, Hawkeye’s chills stopped and he could breathe easier. He was quickly falling asleep and that was probably the reason why he wasn’t startled when Trapper’s hand found his under their blankets, interlocking their fingers.

It seemed that Trapper really knew what he was doing, as Hawkeye slept that night without a single nightmare, finally feeling safe. The second night they went to sleep like this, Frank was on post-op duty. Hawkeye’s fever was already on a retreat, but it was still a great comfort to have someone to lean on.

“When I was a kid, I had a dog for these situations,” he said as Trapper folded his arms behind his head. “Maxim. He always curled on my feet when I was sick. Used to drive my mother crazy.”

“What would that good woman say about your taste in bedfellows now?”

“She would probably wish she hadn’t taken me to all those theater plays. You know what they say about people in the theater,” Hawkeye said and squirmed to get a little closer to Trapper.

“No, what?”

“No idea. Everyone always says _you know what they say about people in the theater,_ but nobody ever actually says anything,” Hawkeye said, frowning. It occurred to him that maybe it wasn’t his best idea to bring that up in this situation. He didn’t want to scare Trapper away. But Trapper’s only reaction was to yawn.

“Oh. Well, I’ve been to the theater about five times in my entire life,” Trapper said and yawned again.

“Great, so I’m the only theater person in here.”

They must have fallen asleep then, because next thing Hawkeye knew, he was curled against Trapper’s side. Trapper was holding him close, his hand on the small of Hawkeye’s back, warm and calming. Hawkeye propped his chin on Trapper’s chest, taking a long look at his best friend. It was dark and the camp was quiet and it was just that kind of mood that made him muse about his and Trapper’s relationship. Because _best friends_ didn’t really describe it anymore. They were together almost all the time and they still hadn’t grown sick of each other. They had their fights, but it never stuck. Hawkeye cared for Trapper deeply and he knew Trapper felt the same way. And it didn’t even matter how they got to this point, it didn’t matter that it was the war that brought them together and that there was not so slight chance that one of them (or both) would get home in a wooden suit. All that mattered was that there was a person who knew how important physical closeness was for Hawkeye and who valued him enough not to care what other people would think. All that mattered was that he wasn’t alone in this mess. And how kissable Trapper’s lips looked.

Startled by the last thought he jolted and Trapper’s eyes fluttered open. Hawkeye quickly schooled his expression, praying it wouldn’t betray him. Belatedly, he realized that Trapper would be maybe more freaked out by them basically cuddling. But it seemed that Trapper didn’t mind at all. He smiled at Hawkeye, a little lopsided smile, the dimple in his chin more prominent and his sleepy eyes crinkled.

It was probably his fever that made him bold enough to risk it all, to lean in and connect their lips. He wasn’t sure what was Trapper's excuse, but it didn’t matter. They were kissing, careful like kids on a prom night, and as hungry for each other.

Hawkeye had kissed some boys before, back as a teenager in Crabapple Cove - boys he had silly little crushes on, or boys who wanted to get some practice before moving on to kissing girls. He never really gave it much thought - he was young and it just didn’t feel that different to him. But once, his dad came home upset, spitting fire about people needing to mind their own business. Hawkeye later found out he’d treated a young violin tutor who was seen holding hands with another man and who got a severe beating for that. Hawkeye’s dad made him promise to never be such a bigot, but the lesson Hawkeye took from this was to stop kissing boys because it wasn’t safe. And he didn’t really miss that, with his ability to charm almost any woman he wanted to.

But now the desire was back, stronger because it wasn’t just some boy. It was Trapper, _his_ Trapper. It didn’t have to mean anything. It just needed to be real. And Trapper understood because when they came apart to catch a breath, there was nothing but affection in his eyes. They both wanted it. They also both knew it would be too risky to go any further.

So they kissed some more and then went to sleep, Hawkeye curled in Trapper’s embrace. In the morning, they didn’t discuss it. It was too fragile for words. Hawkeye was already starting to feel better, the fever gone and his appetite back. Next night, he came to the Swamp and found Trapper’s bed in its usual place. And yeah, there was bitter regret burning in his chest, but it probably came with the territory. Before going to sleep, he stopped at Trapper’s bed, tousling his hair, just to let him know that he was grateful. And that they were okay.

He spent most of the night staring into the darkness, longing for something. For someone by his side. And he could tell Trapper was awake, too, but neither of them said anything. Something had changed, but Hawkeye didn’t dare to try to name it.

After that night, Trapper kept seducing nurses and Hawkeye did, too. It was different now - he still enjoyed sex, but the highlight of these nights was going back to the Swamp and finding Trapper in there, his hazel eyes lighting up and lips curling in that smile reserved just for Hawkeye. It was like coming home. Which didn’t make any sense at all, but that didn’t change his feelings.

 

Their second kiss was a whole other story. He lost a patient, which was something he should have gotten used to ages ago, but he never did. Every time, it was a storm of feelings, everything from guilt to self-doubt to hatred for this war. After finishing in OR, he went straight to showers, not bothering to take off his scrubs.

He didn’t take them off before stepping into the shower, either. Just turned on the water, hoping it would wash his hands and body and mind. The water was mildly warm, which was unfortunate. Cold water would probably shock him out of his funk, hot water would make him feel something. But it was warm and didn’t do anything.

It was a young girl, no more than twenty, with freckles on her nose and an ugly wound in her abdomen. Her stomach was in shreds, the aorta too heavily damaged. She was few weeks pregnant. Probably didn’t even know it yet. He lost two lives. God only knew what she was doing in the war instead of lounging in her bed, being pampered by her husband and reading books about how to raise kids.

Hawkeye turned his head so the water hit his face. That way even he couldn’t be sure if there were tears running down his cheeks.

The door squeaked and Trapper entered. Took one look and without saying a word, he stepped into the next cubicle, grabbed Hawkeye’s head and kissed him under the warm water, rough and hard. And Hawkeye kissed him back, glad for having something to cling to, something to feel. Glad for not being alone and glad that it was nobody else but Trapper - his best friend who knew him like the back of his hand, whom he trusted enough to let himself be weak and vulnerable.

They kissed and kissed and it wasn’t just despair they tasted. Hawkeye was dazed, tired and heartbroken, but he instinctively knew there was more. It was in the way Trapper’s lips moved, in the way his hands were digging into the front of Hawkeye’s scrubs, in the way he didn’t let go of him when they needed to catch a breath and how he came back every time. It was in the way Hawkeye held onto Trapper, like he was the only thing keeping him sane.

Which may as well have been true. And at this point, Hawkeye was sure he would do anything for Trapper. So when Trapper finally let go of Hawkeye long enough to open the partition and step into Hawkeye’s cubicle, he didn’t protest. When Trapper’s hands started to search for a way under his clothes, he didn’t protest. And when Trapper’s fingers wrapped around his cock, he just buried his face into Trapper’s shoulder, leaning on him, giving himself over to him. And when he was done, feeling like more than just pent-up seed had left his body, he reached into Trapper’s trousers and kissed his best friend’s lips to swallow his moans as he started to stroke him.

As with their first kiss, they didn’t discuss it after. It just became a part of their life. After accepting the war as their new normal, it wasn’t really a challenge, getting used to those stolen moments in night showers, with ears attuned to the sounds of the camp. There were other moments, in storage and in VIP’s tent and in the Swamp when Frank was sneaking off with Hot Lips. All of them were quick and intense and laced with adrenaline, but they couldn’t stop coming back to each other, even if it never moved past kisses and their hands. Everything else seemed too risky, so they saved that for nurses and their fantasies. But as the initial surprise of daring to tip over the edge between best friends and best friends who kissed wore off, the words came.

Whispered into each other’s ear, because saying it aloud didn’t seem right. Breathless confessions and idle promises that sounded so sure when they were both mad with passion, but downgraded to silly once the war kicked back in. They couldn’t help it, just like Hawkeye couldn’t help himself from picturing a future for them. Somewhere in America, somehow working despite him knowing a thousand reasons and then some why it could never ever work. Trapper would never leave his family for him and Hawkeye would never settle for scraps. But the fantasies still kept coming to him, demanding his attention, and more than less he wasn’t strong enough to resist, no matter what the rational part of his brain was telling him.

And maybe that gleam in Trapper’s eyes was his fantasy too, maybe he just wanted to see his wishes mirrored in there because he didn’t want to be alone in it.

Or maybe it was real and they were both in trouble.

 

Then there was the matter of their last kiss, the one he got from Radar instead of Trapper. It wasn’t different just because it came through an intermediary. The kisses before, they were usually wild and passionate, all clashing teeth and gasping for air and sometimes even the taste of blood when one of them managed to bite the other one’s lip. Other times, it was more playful - big sloppy kisses and giggling and pretending to be disgusted. And sometimes, it was tender and melancholy, acknowledging the impossibility of their situation, of a woman and two little girls back in the States who had a right to Trapper Hawkeye could never fight.

But there was a hard and sobering finality in that last peck on the cheek that couldn’t be denied or glossed over. They were done, Trapper was on his way to his wife and Hawkeye was left with a new candidate for a best friend in that hell. And even though BJ managed to fill up a large part of the empty place that Trapper left in Hawkeye’s life, there was still a hollowness that wouldn’t go away. It was worse in the nights when he was alone in the Swamp, when he’d swear he could hear echoes of their banter and laugh. Feel echoes of their touches. Taste echoes of their kisses. And each and every time, he had to accept the fact that Trapper was gone, and that never stopped hurting. But it was also something real, something he could still cling to, something pure he managed to get out of ever-present grime and blood. So no matter how painful it could get from time to time, he held on to his memories. It was all that was left from what they were.

Until the letter came.

* * *

 

Hawkeye noticed his glass was empty, so he went to the bar to refill it. The Officers Club was almost empty, there was only him, Igor behind the bar, Klinger dancing with Ginger, and Father Mulcahy, who just came in. Hawkeye went back to his table, and to staring at the letter, turning it in his hand. By this time, he knew the envelope by heart. Not that there was that much to memorize. He’d have to open it eventually. So what if Trapper didn’t want him anymore, it wasn’t like he’d made some plans.

But still…

As long as the letter remained unopened, there were infinite possibilities of what was in there. It could say that those late night talks and promises didn’t mean the same thing back in the States. It could say that Trapper was happy with his wife and daughters, thanks for everything but I don’t need you anymore. It could say nothing that had happened between them really mattered.

It could say other things. There could be accusations - although Hawkeye was almost sure this wouldn’t be the case. Trapper wasn’t like that. But it was possible.

There could be bad news mixed with good news. There could be news that would pull on his heartstrings, make him regret even more he was stuck in Korea.

There could be that goodbye he never got.

There could be more promises, and Hawkeye didn’t know if that wouldn’t be the worst case scenario. Because that would give him hope and hope was a dangerous thing to have around there. Small amounts of it were fine, abstract ideas of it were okay, but something real and palpable felt too much like tempting fate. It painted a target on your back.

And after all, no matter what the letter said, it couldn’t change the fact that there were twenty thousand miles between him and Trapper.

“Hello, Hawkeye,” someone spoke above him. Hawkeye looked up and saw father Mulcahy, smiling at him in that friendly way of his. “May I join you?” father asked and Hawkeye nodded. A distraction was more than welcome.

“I noticed you’ve been awfully quiet and not your usual self tonight. Do you want to talk about anything?”

For a second, Hawkeye actually thought about the offer. For a second, he let himself enjoy the luxury of having a chance of telling someone about him and Trapper, but it was clear that talking about it with a priest wouldn’t be a good idea. Talking about it with anyone in here wouldn’t be a good idea. There were rules in this world, and even though Hawkeye didn’t like them and took a great pleasure in breaking them whenever he could, he still knew some of them weren’t worth breaking, no matter how little sense they made.

“BJ tells me you received a letter from Trapper,” father continued when Hawkeye didn’t say anything. “Is that it?”

Hawkeye looked at the letter again, noticing the smudges and wrinkles and other traces of him clinging to it without opening it.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

“You and Trapper were best friends. It can’t be easy not to have a chance to say goodbye,” father said gently. “But when you finally get used to it and then the goodbye comes, it can bring back painful memories, open old wounds. Is that what scares you?”

“Maybe,” Hawkeye admitted, even though it was only a fraction of the truth.

“Well, it still can help you to get a closure. And it doesn’t have to be a goodbye. Maybe it’s an invitation to meet and catch up once you’re home too. Boston isn’t that far from Maine.”

And Hawkeye couldn’t stop his lips from forming a smile, probably the first real one since getting the letter. It was nice, knowing there were still optimistic people around, even though he was maybe no longer one of them.

“That’s more like you,” Father Mulcahy nodded and patted Hawkeye’s arm.

“Do you really think it would be a good idea, to stay in touch with Trapper after coming home?” Hawkeye asked, serious again. “I mean, wouldn’t we be kind of stuck in here instead of moving forward?”

Father Mulcahy took time to think about his response, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with a handkerchief. Then he looked back at Hawkeye.

“I think your and Trapper’s friendship deserve the shot, even though there’s nothing guaranteed. The Lord had his reason to put you into each other’s path, and I don’t think that reason was fulfilled already. But the first step for you to take is to read the letter. Then you can decide what to do next.” Father stood up and smiled at Hawkeye once more before wishing him good night and leaving the Officers’ Club.

And he was right, of course, he was right. Hawkeye took a gulp of his drink for courage and finally, finally opened the letter. At first, he was so nervous he couldn’t even focus on the words, his eyes darting from one line to another, desperately searching for something.

 

_Dear Hawk,_

_sorry for not writing sooner … didn’t know what to say … how to say it … thinking about you everyday … miss you … hate how we parted …_

_My girls … beautiful and amazing … Becky keeps asking about you … when she’s gonna meet this Uncle Hawkeye … I probably talk about you too much …_

_Louise  … terrific mother … other things just don’t really work … still love her but …_

_Just stay alive, okay? Stay alive and come back and we can talk and figure things out. Or not, that’s up to you. The only thing I want from you is to stay alive._

 

_Talk and figure things out_. That wasn’t really a goodbye, was it? Wasn’t a promise either. He read the whole letter twice more, trying to tap into the rational part of his mind, trying to be impartial, but it still made warmth run through his veins and a smile tug on his lips. Because talk and figure things out was far from  _it didn’t matter_ , far from _I don’t need you anymore_. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a promise, but it was close. Close enough for him to dare to believe that he didn’t imagine it those few times he thought he saw a spark in Trapper’s eyes, signaling they were more than just two desperate men using each other to chase their fears away. That Trapper maybe really wanted him, some way or another. And in this light, it suddenly did make sense that he hadn’t said goodbye. He didn’t want it to be a goodbye, because goodbyes mean ends and if there was one thing he understood the letter was saying, it was that Trapper didn’t want an end for them just yet. Hawkeye didn’t want that either.

And so he decided to throw the caution to the wind, to let himself hope, really, deeply hope that things would work out for the two of them, no matter how unlikely it was, no matter what the world might think of them. That was a problem for a future Hawkeye, if there even would be a future Hawkeye. His main worry now was to stay alive despite that giant target he just decided to paint on his back. To stay alive, come home and discover what exactly _talk and figure things out_ meant.

He took a look around and saw he was now completely alone in the Officers’ Club. It was quiet and almost peaceful, and despite the sheen of filth covering the place, despite the sounds of planes crossing the sky that would mean more wounded in the morning, despite the general gloominess of the whole place, Hawkeye felt genuinely happy.

He took out his notebook and a pen.

 

_Dear Trap,_

_sorry for taking so long to respond. Army fucked up, as always, and sent your letter to some other Cpt. Pierce. It was fun to read his letters, but now I’m really glad his manners were better than mine._

_Talking and figuring things out sounds good, I’d love that._

_Anyways, things here are still the same mess. Wounded keeps coming, Army keeps obstructing every reasonable idea, and nurses are cheekier day by day._

_Your girls seem lovely, can’t wait till I meet them and tell them all the stories from here you probably leave out. Like that one time …_


End file.
